Dead Love
by melakhim
Summary: "Then why don't you want me to go?" She asks, voice smooth as silk, yet as full of venom as a spider. A part of her already knows his answer and just wants to hear him say it. "Afraid you can't beat me?" Clato. Focuses more on Clove. Rated T for violence


**A/N: This Clato shipping is causing me to become severely depressed... D; Anyways, I decided to write another Clato fanfic, but this time with Cato seeming saner and from Clove's limited third person POV.**

**IF ONLY THIS SHIP HAD SAILED IN THE MOVIE.**

**Well, here's le story! Enjoy!**

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><p>"You don't have to do it."<p>

Clove snorts at the remark, all the while running a fingertip along the ivory handle of the knife in her hand.

"Really, Cato," she tells the older boy. "I thought you were smarter than that."

With the subtle flick of her wrist, Clove sends the knife whizzing through the air. It seems to fly through the air with a mind of its own, its aerodynamic path graceful and beautiful, yet at the same time incredibly lethal. The dagger lodges itself into its intended target- the heart of a doomed training dummy.

The older boy scowls at her jibe, crossing his muscled arms over his chest as a sign of his irritation.

"I'm serious, Clove." Cato drifts over to the rack of swords, their sharp, shining edges drawing him in. "Don't do it."

Clove, who was in the process of hurtling another knife, falters slightly, and the knife misses her intended mark by a few millimeters. She scowls darkly, her thin eyebrows knitting together, and then picks up a dagger with a serrated blade.

"This is my one chance, Cato." The dagger whips through the air so fast that Cato can barely follow it. It lodges itself in the bull's-eye with an angry thump. "This is my one chance to win."

Cato hefts one of the swords, slicing it through the air experimentally, testing its weight. "I told you already. Volunteer next year. Not this year." His voice isn't imploring- it never is- but it's probably as close to pleading as Cato will ever get.

"I was chosen to volunteer for our district this year!" Clove snarls. Another knife goes flying. "It's my year to win. If I don't volunteer, they'll flay me alive. Besides, I don't want to wait another year to go to the games! We both know I'm the best this district has."

"The best _girl_ this district has." Cato corrects, a grain of annoyance wedged in his tone. He pauses before slashing the head off of a dummy. The severed body part clatters to the floor dully, the sound echoing throughout the empty training center.

They continue mutilating dummies for some time in a silence that is as tense as their relationship. In truth, Cato and Clove's relationship seems warped to others. Their love for each other is as twisted and fractured as their minds are. They enjoy the smell of blood, watching the life bleed from other's eyes, inflicting pain on others, and especially one another. Training is their life, their purpose. That is what ties them together.

"Why don't _you_ step down?" Clove challenges.

"I've been waiting for this year my whole life." He growls. "To win the Games. Do you honestly think I'd pass up the chance, or wait another year?"

"Then why don't you want me to go?" She asks, voice smooth as silk, yet as full of venom as a spider. A part of her already knows his answer and just wants to hear him say it. "Afraid you can't beat me?"

Cato lets out a chuckle, but it's dry and humorless.

"No, that's not it at all. If you go to the games this year, Clove, I'd have kill you."

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><p>Nothing was supposed to stand in her way of victory.<p>

How ironic, then, that she's going to be slaughtered by a stone?

District 11 raises his arm to strike, and Clove's composure cracks, fear bubbling up from the deepest recesses of her soul.

"Cato!" She screeches in a desperate plea. "Cato!" Fear surges through her once again. She tells herself that she's not supposed to be scared of anything, but her heart doesn't obey her, tripling its hellish tattoo in her chest.

"Clove!" Cato's voice is too far away, and it's then that Clove knows she's really going to die.

Die. The word is icy and unfamiliar, a stranger in her mind. She wasn't supposed to die. She was supposed to _win_.

The rock slams down on her skull with the force of a truck. Her vision fades, going fuzzy, and searing pain engulfs her. Its tendrils take a hold of her, and her body feels like it's on fire. She can't think straight; Firegirl and 11's words are like a string of letters jumbled together, nonsensical jargon. She lets out a small moan of pain, a moan of weakness.

"Clove!" She can understand that one word- it's her name, isn't it? The voice is closer than before.

Breathing is a battle. Clove manages to inhale, her brain screaming incoherently, feeling like it's exploding into thousands of fragments. She watches her chest rise and fall, each time the movement becoming more feeble.

_No..._ She manages to think. _Please._ Clove has no idea what she's begging for. Life? Victory? Cato?

"Clove!" And suddenly Cato is there, right above her. While everything Clove can see is blurry, his face is crystal clear. Locks of blond hair, matted by grime and sweat, fall over his eyes, which lock onto hers.

"Clove!" He cries again, his voice filled with pain and agony, even though she's the one lying on the ground, broken beyond repair.

"I-" Clove chokes on the word, a cough erupting in her throat. It takes too much effort to hack up the bubble of blood that trickles down her chin.

"Stay with me, Clove!" Cato begs for the impossible, clutching Clove's hand in his like it's a lifeline that can tie her to life.

"I wouldn't have killed you." Clove whispers, those five words leeching whatever energy she had left in her. She doesn't know whether that statement is the truth or if it's a lie- perhaps it's something in between. But it hardly matters now, does it?

A drop of something salty and wet splashes onto Clove's cheek. It takes her a long, painful moment to realize that Cato is actually crying. She wants to scowl at him and tell him not to be so weak, but there's no energy that she can spare, and everything just hurts so goddamn much.

The rise and fall of Clove's chest is much slower now, and her breath rattles agonizingly in her throat. Blood trickles into her left eye, blocking the sunlight from her vision. However, she can still see Cato, can still hear his voice pleading with her to stay.

Clove was wrong when she said Cato never pleaded.

Cato squeezes her hand, and more tears drip down his cheeks and onto Clove's.

"Cato." Clove whispers the word, and it is her last. She lets out a shuddering breath and her chest falls. It does not rise again.

For a single moment, the only thing that can be heard is the sound of a boy, weeping quietly, his shoulders shaking in repressed sobs for the girl he loved.

And in the distance, a cannon fires.

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><p><strong>AN: WHY? When is my depression over this ship going to go away? Probably never. :/**

**Well, I think the feelings could've gone deeper, but whatever. Oh, and if you'd like to review because this story evoked emotion in you, I'd be honored :D**


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